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In my new home I find myself outside of time, of routine and of purpose. I’ve had the bounty of living in very purposeful places over the last decade, able to hit the ground running on every landing. Here I have dropped down with a soft frozen thud; there is meant to be purpose here, but in sub-zero temperatures it’s difficult to spend much time outside in our new location, and working from home I see little more than the four walls that surround me.

The silence stretches out solidly enough that a frozen barrier has been extended between me and the rest of the world. Are we waiting for the summer sun to thaw us out? Like the maples in our yard, will I sit here looking skeletal and barren, yet inside teeming with life waiting to burst forth with the coming of a distant spring?